


Can`t repeat the past

by sunnylil



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Hurt, M/M, Mickey Milkovich in Mexico, Super angsty, no happy ending, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-24 00:15:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15618207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnylil/pseuds/sunnylil
Summary: The first three months feel like hell.He can`t think further than the next day, let alone make a plan for his future. A future without Ian.Instead he tries to focus on the next hour. And then the next hour. And then …He blows through almost all of his money (or rather, Ian`s money) within the first two weeks, staying at a cheap motel in Monterrey. He doesn`t drive up to the beach, because it`s  hard enough already. He gets shitfaced every night, trying not to think about anything. He fails.super angsty, Mickey being on his own and hurt in Mexico





	Can`t repeat the past

**Author's Note:**

> I miss Mickey a lot. So I wrote this. I don`t even know. It`s unedited, sorry about that. I would love to hear your thoughts.

The first three months feel like hell.

He can`t think further than the next day, let alone make a plan for his future. A future without Ian.

Instead he tries to focus on the next hour. And then the next hour. And then …

He blows through almost all of his money (or rather, Ian`s money) within the first two weeks, staying at a cheap motel in Monterrey. He doesn`t drive up to the beach, because it`s hard enough already. He gets shitfaced every night, trying not to think about anything. He fails.

He isn`t sure if he hates himself or Ian more. Himself for trusting Ian – Ian for breaking his heart again.

How could he let that happen? How could he let a Gallagher break his heart, not once, not twice, but _four times_?

The tequila burns in his throat, the bottle is almost empty. Mickey lies on the uncomfortable bed, staring at the ceiling.

The first time – it`s been what? Two years ago? Two years ago and he still sees Ian face in front of him as if it had happened yesterday.

 _Don`t_.

He takes another sip.

He doesn`t count the time when Ian cheated on him, thought it was okay to shoot porn and having unprotected sex or when he pressured him into coming out. He doesn`t count these times because Ian was sick and _maybe_ if Mickey had handled it better, if he agreed on taking him to a psych ward when his family suggested to, maybe it wouldn`t have happened so maybe that was on him.

Maybe all of this was on him. He shouldn`t have let his guard down, he should have known better than to expect anything from anyone.

The second time is almost unbearable to think about.

_This is it. This is you breaking up with me._

And again, maybe, if Sammi hadn`t chosen this moment to take revenge on him, they would have had – he doesn`t even know. A chance? It doesn`t matter.

He hears shouting from the room next door and shouts back for them to be quiet, happy for a reason to yell, to scream all his anger out, even if they probably don`t even get what he`s saying. His speech is slurred and he still doesn`t speak a lot of Spanish.

The bottle is empty by now and he`d rather not think about the third and fourth time without having anything to wash the hurt and the anger down, but his brain doesn`t stop.

_Fucking lie if you have to, eight years is a long time._

No. He`s not going there. He`s not going to think about the nights when he lay awake in his cell, planning his escape, planning _this_ , seriously believing that Ian would be with him. That they would start a life together.

_Get in the fucking car._

Yeah. No way he tortures himself with going through that moment again. If it isn`t him anymore why the hell did he come with him? It`s not like, fuck, it`s not like Mickey didn`t give him several chances to just _go_. _Is this good-bye?_ But no, Ian fucking Gallagher made him believe he was with him, made him think that his plan could work. He made him feel at home for a few days, just to rip his heart out again.

Mickey punches the wall next to the bed at this point, his knuckles start bleeding immediately. But the pain doesn`t make anything better. Nothing does.

 

After three weeks in Monterrey money`s getting tight, so he decides to drive up to Veracruz and lands a job as a dock worker. No one asks him about papers, as long as he can lift heavy shit he`s fine. He works long ass shifts and rents a cheap one-room in a shady neighbourhood that reminds him of home but not too much.  He still doesn`t go to the beach.

Some nights he`s able to fall asleep without booze, most nights he`s not.

Most nights he`s torn between missing and hating him.

Eventually he starts to pick up men and fucks in back alleys behind bars, hoping to fill the void. It doesn`t. He isn`t sure if fucking strangers feels better than jerking of to the picture of Ian he brought with him.

He settles into a routine. Working, drinking, fucking.  Days fly by. He figures that the FBI probably isn`t looking for him anymore, at least not intensely. He wonders if Ian misses him, at all. If he`s happy. He`s not sure if he wants him to be.

His Spanish is picking up and he finds himself going to a bar with his colleagues after work. He doesn`t exactly make friends. Milkovichs don`t make friends. Milkovichs don`t need anyone. He wishes that was true. He doesn`t even say much. But listening to Pedro and Juan complaining about their wives (because apparently that`s a thing straight guys do, he will never get that) helps him drown out his own thoughts. When Pedro shows him a picture of his daughter on his phone, he wonders if Yevgeny`s doing all right. And if Ian is still in his life.

Some nights he wants to call him, he dials his number. But he doesn`t go through with it. He isn`t sure if he`s able to get his heart broken again, so he doesn`t risk it.

He starts saving up. At first he tells himself that he wants to go somewhere else and needs money for that. Eventually he stops lying to himself.

The pain starts to fade. He doesn`t think about him every fucking second of the day anymore. Only every other minute.

After months in Veracruz he`s finally able to pay his debt.

He gets an envelope and puts the money inside. His hand shakes slightly when he  writes down the address. But that could be the alcohol.

He slips a piece of paper inside.

_Thanks. We`re even now._

He doesn`t write down a return address. After he posted the letter, he drives to the beach. The sun is already setting.

Here he is. At the beach. Six months after crossing the border. Part of him thought it would be easier now. Being here. Without him. But it isn`t. It feels like his heart is bleeding.

He takes of his shoes and lets the waves wash around his feet. It`s still unbelievable hot.

He has dreamed of this. Every fucking night. Tried to imagine the feeling of the sand under his feet. He has dreamed of this but he also hasn`t. Not like this. Not alone.

But he is. The first few days he thought Ian would come, look for him, tell him he was sorry. He doesn`t think that anymore. He`s in this alone and he shouldn´t ever have thought otherwise.

No matter how much a part of him hates Ian Clayton Gallagher, another part will also always love him. But he also knows that he can`t repeat the past. He knows that remembering every single moment with him won`t change shit. He wishes he could just stop.

He can`t. Instead he gets the _Ian Galager_ tattoo fixed up, so only the _Ian_ part is still readable. He doesn`t need a reminder of the time Ian mocked him about it. He really doesn`t.

He goes to the beach almost every day.

He doesn`t really try to move on, because, fuck, he`s not sure if he will ever be able to. He just tries to not let the memories of him ruin is life even more.

It`s hard. Most of the time he fails.

But at least he stops waiting for him.


End file.
